The ten minutes had barely passed when Sam'l was back in the farm kitchen. He was too flurried to knock this time, and, indeed, Lisbeth did not expect it of him.
“Bell, hae!” he cried, handing his sweetheart a tinsel bag twice the size of Sanders' gift.
“Losh preserve's!” exclaimed Lisbeth; “I'se warrant there's a shillin's worth.”
“There's a' that, Lisbeth—an' mair,” said Sam'l firmly.
“I thank ye, Sam'l,” said Bell, feeling an unwonted elation as she gazed at the two paper bags in her lap.
“Ye're ower extravegint, Sam'l,” Lisbeth said.
“Not at all,” said Sam'l; “not at all. But I widna advise ye to eat thae ither anes, Bell—they're second quality.”
Bell drew back a step from Sam'l.
“How do ye kin?” asked the farmer shortly, for he liked Sanders.
“I speired i' the shop,” said Sam'l.